what's warm and gushes?

Well, for all you sordid mamas out there, go wash your mouth out.
If you want to know the answer to the above question, read on.

And because this blog is all about ME and ME and ME, you may find that the answer to the above question is in fact...

ME!

Yes, I am warm and gushy.

And still you raise your eyebrows in mock-oooh-er-missus-surprise.
And again, I say, go wash your mouths out you filthy bag of retrogrades.

I am warm because, well, it is really warm out there. So, for once, my finger tips aren't a bit blue and sort of wrinkled and damp, and I'm not wearing socks whilst I type up here in my study, and the heating is properly off and I have 10 open windows to prove it.

Isn't it just so nice to be warm though?
And not only am I warm but so too am I gushy.
Why so, I hear you ask, in mock-interest? Why is mothersruin declaring herself gushy? Isn't she on a perma-gush most of the time anyway? Gushing away about nonsense that no one comprehends? All that rubbish about dog poo and children who think Heaven is called Devon and that green food is dangerous and obsessing about East Enders (so good, Stacy had a baby and I reckon a massive round of postnatal depression is about to spark up in the plot...- get the kleenex mums)... Why is she more gushy than usual? (Apart from the fact that its taken 7 paragraphs to get to this point.)

Well, here comes the gush.
It was my birthday on Friday. Yes. Another year, another claw on the crows foot, another few million brain cells never to return and 30? Well, here we are slightly on the other side.
So typical of life. This growing old business. Such an arse.
But, to counteract all that depressing I-wish-I-was-21-again, why-doesn't-any-one-id-me-in- offies-any-more, am-I-literally-just-a-laundry-come-cook-come-chaperone-who-enjoys-64-zoo-lane?thoughts, I found myself surrounded by A Lot Of The Worlds Nicest People on Saturday night down the local N8 public house. And oh, how comforted I was in my time of need by these loves.
Greeting me with eyes full of sympathy (and empathy too I noted from some of the more elderly friends who ventured out on their zimmers to celebrate with me - and yes, I know, totally out-late-nighted-me) and cotton-wool-hugs, they felt my pain and knew what I was going through. And by throwing beautifully wrapped parcels in my direction, accompanied with a glass of prosecco (alternating with water - god, see how old and sensible you become when you reach the end of your 20's?? I mean reach your mid-30's, sorry, forgetful too - it's all water/wine/water/wine and a pint of water before bed with 2 paracetamol... don't want a hangover in the morning now, or an excuse for extra wrinkles now...etc etc) well, I was distracted from said pain and learned to enjoy myself again.

What a lovely party and so good to see the gang in outstanding gladrags and killer shoes and jewels and funky shirts and mascara and - well, etc. So, gushing on I just wanted to end my rambly gush (flood gates are opening...) with a little thank you to everyone who came and got a babysitter and drank a few glasses and endured the heat after a long day of more heat (and for some after also a long day in a playground shouting at children and parents at the school fete) and like some dreadful acceptance speech at the Oscars, I just wanted to say I love you guys. Thank you - without you, I wouldn't have got where I was today, and if my arms could stretch around you all at once, you know? Feel the lurve.

With that, I will wipe my nose on my hairy forearm and head for the bath where I'm about to start Huxley's Brave New World. Only apt as I venture forth in to the next phase of life.
As a 36 year old.